


i love you, most ardently.

by houseofthedragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Class Differences, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Hate Sex, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Regency, Slow Burn, Smut, There's fluff too if you squint, a lot of ballroom dancing, jon as mr darcy aka the broodiest bitch ever, pride and prejudice au, sloooowly, so basically canon jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.Daenerys, Visenya and Rhaenys are happy with how their lives are, they do not wish for more riches or knights in shining armour. But as their father's health deteriorates, they soon understand that a marriage is required so as to keep their land and house, which will otherwise both go to their cousin, Viserys, since their father does not have a male heir.The most suitable match for Visenya seems to be Robb Stark, a wealthy and handsome lord from the North. He seems kind and gentle, Daenerys has noticed approvingly, but the same can't be said for his aloof companion, the Prince of Winterfell, Jon Snow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark/Visenya Targaryen
Comments: 147
Kudos: 253





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well, i started a mr & mrs smith au first but then my friends were ready to murder me for forgetting about this pride & prejudice au that i promised for months. and idk if it's been done for jonerys before (if yes can someone link me please i'd appreciate that) so if you're like me and that's your thing then here you go. 
> 
> please don't kill me for having 100 wips. i know. i hate myself too. but inspiration strikes when it wants to, honestly, and i have 0 self-control. this will have SLOOOOW updates until i finish my hands and the money heist AU so don't yell at me, i was forced into publishing this. 
> 
> p.s: this is still targaryenrestoration but it's time for her to rest now. rip TR. d&d killed you, not me. honestly that username just makes me sad now, yes it's november 2019 and i'm still mourning my fave house going extinct with my 2 fave characters getting the worst endings ever. don't judge me.
> 
> this is for my twitter girls. stop bullying me for this fic now. thanks.

There is something quite strange about quietness. Perhaps to other people, it’s normal to enjoy a day under the pleasant heat of the sun with a book in one’s lap and a nice cup of tea resting on the grass but for Daenerys, it begins to get suspicious as the seconds tick by. She is reading her book – the one about a girl who brought dragons back to the world – but her mind starts to wander, questions start to arise. The peacefulness, the swaying and sighing of the leaves, the lack of other perturbing sounds…. Her eyes squint at the words. Something is fishy.

“Visenya?”

Only the wind answers her. It blows through the trees and soothes the heat on her skin. Daenerys relaxes. She reaches for her cup of tea but before she has the chance to bring it to her mouth, it gets snatched right out of her hand and flies across the air to land on the grass, milky brown splashing all over the green.

With a gasp, Daenerys gets up. A pearl of laughter blooms in the air and she turns her head to the side, not at all surprised to find the culprit enjoying what she did. “Rhaenys!” Daenerys scolds.

Her sister’s violet eyes are vibrant with life and colour. This is her element, after all, being out in nature and doing all kinds of mischievous things which make everyone want to rip their hair out in anger and frustration. But she has a blast out of it, her short silver-golden hair bouncing around her shoulders in sync with her laughter as she lowers the bow. They’ve started taking bow lessons two weeks ago. Two weeks and she is already a pro. Daenerys isn't too bad at it, she's a quick learner but not as tactical as Rhaenys. Visenya, on the other hand, has yet to learn how to hold the arrow. 

“How long have you been here?” Daenerys inquires once the initial shock has faded.

Rhae shrugs. “Long enough.” She reaches for Daenerys’ book swiftly, closing it with a hard thud before Daenerys has the time to tell her to put a bookmark in. “You can finish this later. Let’s go!”

“Go where?”

“To listen to what Father and Mother are telling Visenya.”

“They’re speaking with her? Without us?”

“They called her in their bedroom ten minutes ago.”

The siblings exchange a knowing look, aware that they shouldn’t be doing this, and then they’re on their feet, running toward the house at full-speed.

﹙♚﹚

Even with her ear pressed against the wooden door, Daenerys can’t make out everything that is being said. The voices are muffled, their tones are quiet and her sister’s hair is getting in her face.

“You’re crushing me,” she hisses at Rhaenys who is almost _on_ her back.

“Can you hear anything?”

“I heard the word marriage.”

“Who’s getting married?”

Daenerys chuffs in aggravation. “Hopefully you so I don’t have to deal with your annoying self every day.”

Rhaenys pinches her arm and Daenerys lets out a yelp of surprise and pain.

The moment the sound leaves her mouth, the room goes quiet. Daenerys stands up, knowing they’ve heard her. Before she can escape, the door opens, revealing her mother. Rhaella has a knowing look on her face, an eyebrow quirked. Dany offers an apologetic, nervous smile. “Were you girls listening in on us?” her mother questions.

“No,” Daenerys says, feigning ignorance, “We were just passing by, Mother.”

Rhaella’s face gives away her lack of belief in her words but she doesn’t seem angry, for which Daenerys is thankful. Instead, she pushes the door so it opens wider. “Come in, your father and I have to speak to you as well.”

Aerys is seated on the sofa next to the fireplace. Daenerys and Rhaenys dutifully stand next to Visenya, who has a rather worried look on her slender face.

“As you all know, I’m getting old,” Aerys starts.

“Not to me, I think you look as young as ever,” Rhaenys says cheerfully.

Daenerys snorts.

Their father rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “It’s time we discuss what happens to this house and our lands after I pass.”

Not a pleasant conversation to have but she is ready for it. “It goes to us,” Daenerys states, as for her it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“That’s what I wished to talk about,” their father sighs, an upsetting sound which leaves Daenerys confused as to where this is going. “You know that everything under my name goes to my heirs.”

“We’re your heirs,” Rhaenys points out.

“Male heirs,” he rectifies.

“But you don’t have a son,” Daenerys reflects.

“Exactly,” Aerys says and reluctantly looks at her. “So this house, the farm, everything…it all goes to Viserys.”

Rhaenys gasps. Daenerys, albeit equally as shocked as her sister, can only freeze in place, her mind slowing, her heart failing to beat for a second. “Viserys,” she exhales, “is the cruellest person we know!” When they were children, Viserys once chopped off her hair while she was sleeping. He used to take Visenya’s clothes and dump them in the muddy lake outside. He was a tormenter—both physically and mentally—to all three sisters.

The habit never faded. He grew up to be a bully, having no manners when he speaks to elders, thinking he’s too high and mighty, believing he’s better than everyone and that people should do as he says, and the list of bad things about him goes on and on, Daenerys could go on to insult him until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east and she is certain she would still have things to say afterwards.

“Father, there must be something we can do,” Rhaenys exclaims, panic and fright holding her voice hostage. “Where will we go? Viserys will never let us live here!”

“There is a solution, dear, that is why we called you here,” their mother – possibly the calmest woman in this household along with Visenya – proclaims.

“Whatever it is, we agree,” Daenerys states loud and clearly.

“I have to find a husband.” It’s the first time Visenya has spoken since they’ve arrived, her voice small and uncertain. Pale eyes clash into Dany’s. “If I marry someone, we get to keep everything.” 

Daenerys doesn’t find much joy in the news, not nearly as much excitement as Visenya, the eldest, seems to find. Come to think of it, Visenya has always been the romantic of the trio. She believes in destiny and finding a soulmate and all the other cliché tropes found in romantic plays and novels. Rhaenys is the wild one – if not told by her untamed hair and somehow always dirty clothes, her adventurous nature is indicated by how much time she spends outside, shooting arrows, capturing animals, coming back home at ungodly hours that make their father angry.

Daenerys, on the other hand, doesn’t truly know where she fits in all this. She is far from being as soft and loving as Visenya, yet not as crazy as Rhaenys. She likes to believe she is the brains since she spends most of her time reading and discovering things. Her only goal in life is to protect her family—mainly her sisters. While she is the middle child, she’s always felt protective of Visenya and her good heart. And is always trying to keep Rhaenys out of trouble.

“A husband is not just someone you’re going to find overnight,” Daenerys says, frowning. “I doubt anyone in this village deserves you, Vis.” It’s true. The men around here aren’t worthy of her sister’s love and kindness, Dany is certain of that.

“We’re not going to marry her off to the first man that comes knocking at our door, don’t be silly,” their mother scoffs, “Visenya is young, beautiful and bright. She can cook, sew and speaks three languages. We'll find her a man worthy of her.”

“How will we do that?” Daenerys wishes to know.

“Haven’t you heard? Robb Stark will be in Dragonstone for the weekend,” Aerys says.

Dany blinks. “Is that supposed to mean a thing to me?” She’s never been one to be interested in rumours and gossips, and the name is only vaguely familiar to her.

Visenya gasps. “How can you _not _know him? He’s a Northern lord, coming from one of the richest families in Winterfell. The Starks, Dany! They say he’s beautiful and strong and—” She has that dreamy look on her face, but all Daenerys sees is naivety.

“Isn’t he friends with the Prince of Winterfell?” Rhaenys cuts her sister off.

“Yes, he is,” Rhaella inputs, “Alas, I don’t suppose the Prince is looking for a wife. But that’s not important. Robb is the perfect match for your sister and there’s no way he isn’t going to fall head over heels for my beautiful daughter the moment he sees her.”

Visenya goes red at her mother’s praising words.

“How are we going to meet this Robb Stark?” Daenerys questions sceptically.

Aerys is the one to answer that question. “There’s a ball this Saturday. He’s going to attend. And you'll be going as well.”

﹙♚﹚

The ball is as grandiose as their father described, perhaps one of the biggest organised in Dragonstone. Daenerys has never seen a place so beautiful before—the ceiling so high she feels dizzy when she raises her head, the lights so blinding it’s impossible to count how many there are or how many different colours are shining.

However, she is certain of the fact that the hundreds of people around her aren’t here for the majestic mansion’s ballroom or the music being played by talented musicians dressed in all black, their instruments gold in colour, or for the rather impressive buffet; ranging from cold to hot dish and a variety of drinks made available in expensive glasses.

They’re here for Robb Stark.

“I’ve never seen this many people in a room in my life,” Rhaenys whispers to Daenerys, her left arm looped around hers.

“Neither have I,” Visenya murmurs back, her right arm intertwined with Daenerys’ left one.

The three sisters walk in as such, with Daenerys in the middle dressed in a long-sleeved black dress made of silk with sparkly flowery patterns embroidered into the material, Rhaenys to her left in a short-sleeved red dress with rubies adorning the neckline and Visenya, the most well-dressed out of the three, her sleeveless blue dress not only brings out her sparkly eyes but has captured _everyone’_s eyes, women and men alike staring at her as she passes by them.

“Go and mingle with the guests,” Rhaella instructs them.

Visenya is eager to please her mother but Rhaenys and Dany look at each other, knowing that is the last thing they wish to do tonight.

“Mother, can’t I just stay here with you?” Rhae asks.

Rhaella sighs. “Only because it’s your first ball,” she answers, then looks at Daenerys. “You go! Go, make some friends.”

“I have friends,” Daenerys mutters and rolls her eyes, walking away.

She spots a group of girls and upon recognising Margaery, a girl from one of her harp lessons, Daenerys goes up to her and her two friends. Margaery smiles at her. “Look who’s here. Daenerys. It has been a while.”

Daenerys smiles back. “It has. I’m afraid I discovered I don’t really like playing the harp.” She’d dropped out of her lessons three weeks after starting, much to her mother’s annoyance. Instead, she began a calligraphy class.

“Why are you here tonight?” Marge questions and then shakes her head. “Ah, I already know the answer.”

“You do?” As far as she knows, they haven’t told anyone about the possible marriage between Visenya and Robb – they don’t even _know_ each other yet.

Margaery approaches Daenerys, putting her bright red lips next to the silver-haired girl’s ear to breathe out a secretive sentence, “you must’ve heard about the rumours of Jon Snow attending tonight’s ball, right?”

Daenerys blinks. “Precisely,” she answers, the lie slipping past her lips as easy as her next breath comes in. “I, um, heard about this, as well.”

“I hope the rumours are true,” Margaery’s friend says, the red-haired girl sighing dreamily, “I heard he’s _really_ handsome.”

Dany doesn’t understand why women only care about men’s looks, just like her sister seems to do, but she nods and smiles – like she’s supposed to do, like a nice lady, like she relates to them, like she wishes to be friends with them. “So have I,” she says.

“It doesn’t matter. They say he will never marry a woman of lower birth than him,” Margaery butts in, pouting a bit. “It’s sad but it’s fair. He is the prince, after all, only a princess or some highborn woman can fit him.”

“True,” her two friends agree in unison.

“But it’ll still be fun to see him,” Margaery continues, excited once more, “And perhaps he’ll dance with us!”

The girls share a high-pitched squeal about this idea, one that Daenerys cannot fake and doesn’t bother trying. She hates dancing.

﹙♚﹚

Jon Snow questions the life decisions that led him to this point in time, standing at the entrance of this ball, next to his best friend who is – unlike him – buzzing with excitement.

“Why,” he mutters to himself, “have I agreed to this?”

“Would it kill you to smile a bit?” Robb asks him.

“Yes,” Jon replies plainly, “I think it would literally kill me to smile right now.”

“It’s a ball. Not a funeral.” Robb rolls his eyes at him. “We’ve had a long and tiring trip, we deserve to have one evening of fun before heading back to our frozen wasteland.”

“Hey,” Jon scowls at him, “I like the cold up North.”

Robb snorts. “Who would’ve guessed?” _Sarcasm, _Jon has learned to notice.

When they enter, it causes a scene. Jon almost wishes to tell them that they’re not forced to bow, that he isn’t _their _prince nor is he used to the title thrust upon him, but it’s too late. The crowd shifts and moves, forming a perfect line for them to pass through.

Robb and Jon walk down the path, smiling at people to their left and to their right. Well, Robb does the smiling, Jon…tries not to frown.

As Jon walks, someone, in particular, catches his eye. A woman, petite and fair, lifting her head from a bow just in time for her eyes to meet his. For a moment, the crowd fades, the people just aren’t there anymore, the noises and whispers abruptly come to a halt and a second lasts for as long as a minute when her violet eyes clash and burn into his grey ones. Her pink lips part, eyebrows furrowing in the middle just the slightest, as if she can sense _this, _too—this thing between them, this thing that seems to defy rationality and physics, freezing just the two of them in time with nothing but their gazes meeting. His breath stutters, the pulse behind the creamy skin of her neck jumps. His feet feel heavy like weights have been attached to them, preventing him from taking another step and stop looking at the stranger with the palest eyes and hair he has ever seen.

And then reality is back. Jon blinks, resuming his walk nonchalantly and the people are back again, all around him, beaming at him and Robb and he can hear the noises again now – even the soft, romantic tunes of the piano. He tries to ignore the bizarre incident but as he walks, can _feel _her eyes on the back of his skull.

He never looks back.

﹙♚﹚

“Rhaenys, straighten your dress!” Rhaella hisses at her youngest daughter.

Rhae groans. “It’s just so bloody hot in this thing,” she complains, scratching her neck, “how can you wear this and not complain?”

Daenerys giggles but is silenced by her mother’s glare. “We’re going to speak with Robb and if you two don’t behave, your sister will never stand a chance. So, behave!”

“Yes, Mother,” Rhaenys and Daenerys deadpan, grinning mischievously at one another.

Rhaella leads with Visenya at her side and Dany trails behind with her naughty sister. Lord Stark is at the buffet, chatting with Jon Snow while trying out the cookies displayed on the table. Daenerys feels her hands grow clammy as they approach the pair. She doesn’t know why, but earlier when they entered…she’s felt something _weird _about this Jon Snow. A nervous feeling at the pits of her stomach when he looked at her, gazed directly _into _her eyes. She has since then decided that it was unpleasant and meant nothing good.

“My lord,” their mother greets them in the sweetest voice Daenerys has ever heard.

Robb and his companion both turn their heads to the four women. For a brief second, _his_ eyes meet hers and she waits for the _thing _again, whatever it is that she felt earlier, but his gaze is hard and empty as he glances away. _It was only me, _she thinks to herself. Both relieved and somehow disappointed.

“I’m Rhaella Targaryen and these are my daughters, Visenya, Daenerys and Rhaenys.” Cue the smiles and curtsies.

Robb greets them with a pleasant smile, while Jon’s smile is barely a smile, just a twitch of his lips to acknowledge their presence, and then it’s like he’s zoning out again. Rhaella has a way with words, and soon enough, she has Robb’s full attention. He laughs and speaks with her like they’ve been friends for decades. Daenerys observes the interaction, noticing how Robb’s eyes keep flickering to Visenya who is chuckling and blushing like she is fifteen again.

“It was so very nice to meet you, my ladies,” Robb says at some point. “Ah, if you don’t mind me asking Mrs Targaryen, may I have a dance with your eldest daughter?”

Rhaella’s eyes twinkle in delight. “Oh, please, she would love to!” She might as well have physically shoved Visenya in the Northman’s waiting arms.

Robb offers Visenya an arm who takes it with a shy smile. Rhaenys is asked by a young man, around her age, and she accepts with a careless shrug. Rhaella goes with her, probably to keep an eye on Robb and Visenya.

This leaves Daenerys alone with the stuck-up, dressed in full black, Prince of Winterfell. Her heartbeat gets a tad bit faster as she clasps her hands together tightly, not knowing what to do or say. She’s never spoken with royalty before. She clears her throat out of anxiousness, yet he keeps avoiding her eyes, a deep frown on his face.

She wonders, then, if he’ll ask her to dance with him.

And then his dark eyes settle on her, freezing her up with the look he gives her. “I don’t dance,” he states bluntly and leaves.

Leaves without another word. Without a goodbye. Leaves her standing alone on the dancefloor, with every girl around her being swept into chivalrous men’s arms. Embarrassed, she heads to find her mother, deciding that if there is one thing she loathes more than dancing—it’s probably Jon Snow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't trust me with updates i literally don't know when i feel like writing

First impressions take time to change. Or, they simply do not.

No matter how much one tries not to, it’s human nature to judge someone on the first meeting. Whether it’s based on how they are dressed, how they hold themselves up or how they interact with you—first encounters always leave a mark. A mark that is hard to erase.

The mark Jon Snow left on Daenerys was a negative, dirty one. A stain would be a better word for it, actually.

“What an impolite brute,” she grumbles, still vividly able to recall his cold, calculating grey eyes gazing into hers as he rudely told her that he 'doesn’t dance' - what kind of person _doesn't dance, _there's no such thing as that, even if a person doesn't _know _how to dance it doesn't mean they just never dance - as if she wished to dance with him in the first place!

Just so everything is clear, she didn’t.

But it was _expected_ of them. It was a ball, after all, and surely as a prince, he has been to his fair share of balls to know how these things work. The whole point _is _to dance with strangers or acquaintances. Would it have hurt him so deeply to waste a few minutes of his precious time moving with her to the beats of a lovely song? Just for the sake of being polite?

“Brute,” Visenya repeats, mirth present in her voice—amusement which Daenerys doesn’t share. She is behind Dany, her fingers working on the zipper of her sister's dress. Dany had worn this pretty thing in hopes of spending a good night despite not really wishing to go to the ball in the first place, yet one particular person managed to ruin it all for her. “That's a strong word, even for him, don’t you think?”

“No, I do not think,” Daenerys retorts dryly, “have you seen the way he looked at us when we approached him? As if he couldn't _believe_ he had to interact with people like us?”

Visenya’s giggles get mixed with the sound of her dress unzipping. Daenerys sighs as she finally steps out of the heavy material of her gown, feeling free and light with just her undergarments. She turns to her sister with a frown. “You didn’t notice because you were too busy ogling at Lord Stark,” Dany remarks slyly.

At that, Vis goes red from her neck to her cheeks. “He was very charming,” she offers.

“Let’s hope he’s nothing like his friend,” Daenerys comments.

Rhaenys steps out of the bathroom, then, her hair wet. “What are we speaking of?” she asks her sisters.

“How did you find the ball?” Visenya asks.

She shrugs. “It was alright.”

“Anyone caught your eye?”

Rhaenys wrinkles her nose like she has tasted acid. “_Eurgh! _Don’t say that. Boys do not interest me.”

Daenerys smiles. Rhaenys is at _that_ age where girls find everything boys-related disgusting and repulsive.

When they go to sleep that night, Daenerys stays awake longer than her two sisters, thinking about everything that happened these past few days. Knowing Visenya would soon have to get married worries her. While her sister is ready to open her arms and heart to the first man she deems kind, Daenerys is more wary of what marriage could mean. She’s heard many a tale of cruel husbands, both physically and mentally, and she cannot begin to think about what could happen to her sweetest sister if she falls in the wrong man’s arms.

Before she dozes off, she vows to the Old Gods and the New that she will do anything in her power to make sure that Visenya finds someone as good as her and most crucially, somebody who will always keep her safe.

﹙♚﹚

The next morning, over breakfast, the most interesting topic is, _of course, _the ball.

“How was it?” Aerys inquires due to his absence.

Rhaenys fills their father’s bowl with soup as she hums, “you should ask Visenya. She’s the one who was busy flirting all night, not us.”

Vis scoffs. “I was not—_flirting._” Her cheeks are already turning pink already. “But Robb is a…nice man.”

“He is wonderful,” Rhaella gushes, “and they look beautiful together!”

Their father chuckles. “Alright. Prayers.”

Daenerys extends her arms, her left hand clutching Visenya’s and right one grabbing onto Rhaenys' hand as they close their eyes, murmuring the familiar words to themselves.

Dany doesn’t consider herself to be much of a religious girl, but she’ll never admit that to her mother, who would probably faint and say the devils have possessed her and forced her to reject faith.

She does a lot of things simply to please her family. Her mother, father, sisters. She doesn’t mind, though, because keeping them happy is the most important thing in her life.

Once they’re done praying, they begin eating.

As Daenerys cuts through a piece of white bread, her father asks, “Daenerys, what did you think of Lord Stark?”

“He appears to be decent,” she answers, the most honest response she can provide. After all, she’s only known the man for one night. It’s not enough to draw a conclusion and not enough for her to entrust her sister with him. “I do believe we need to keep our options…open.”

“What do you mean?” Rhaella asks.

“We need not rush in a marriage right away,” Daenerys explains.

“I understand your worries, Dany, but I do think Robb is the best we can get,” Visenya says, frowning a bit at her sister’s unwillingness to warm up to Robb.

“Maybe there are better suitors,” Daenerys suggests. "How would you know?"

“But I like Robb,” states Visenya, stubborn.

Their mother cuts off the bickering with a sigh. “Daenerys is just being over-protective. I’m certain if she got to know Robb better, she’ll like him too.”

Dany shrugs. Perhaps she will, perhaps she won’t.

“We should invite him to dinner,” Aerys says.

“What?” Daenerys and Visenya ask at the same time, although one’s tone is filled with excitement and the other, incredulousness.

“That’s a great idea,” Vis exclaims.

“Is it, though?” Dany inquires, “doesn’t that seem a bit too…desperate? If he liked her, we should give him the opportunity of reaching out too. We already went to the ball for him. Isn't it time for him to show that he's interested in Visenya?”

“She has a point,” Rhaenys points out, for which Daenerys is glad.

Visenya crosses her arms over her chest, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “How will he reach out to us? He doesn’t know where we live!”

“He’s Robb Stark,” her father says, “if he wants to, he can find out anything about anyone." Clearing his throat, he adds, "I think Daenerys is right. If he liked you last night, he’ll make it known.”

“So now what?” Visenya asks.

“Now,” Daenerys answers, taking a long sip of water, “we wait.”

﹙♚﹚

Jon has never seen Robb so _distracted. _

He has seen his friend enamoured by a girl before, in Winterfell, and the boyish crush made him do stupid things like try to get her a wolf pup she’d wanted on her nameday. He came back home bloodied and battered after having been chased down the woods by wolves.

Now, Robb is no longer a green boy swearing to grasp the stars to impress a girl but, much to Jon's disappointment, he’s still acting as childish.

“She’s so pretty,” he swoons this morning, while Jon is busy getting the horses ready. They have a long trip ahead, weeks of riding, and instead of worrying about the perilous journey, his friend is still going on about the girl he’d met last night, this Targaryen lady who has completely enchanted him for reasons that escape Jon. “She has the sweetest voice too.”

“That’s very nice,” Jon says laconically, adjusting the saddle on his horse. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for you to tell me all about her once we start riding for Winterfell.”

Being a prince was fun when he was young, he had all the privilege in the world and not a single thing to worry about. He used his authority to get what he wanted. But as he grew, Jon realised that being a prince meant more than ordering people around and have them bow as he enters a room, it also means being involved in politics, going on long, exhausting trips to other places for meetings and having to care about his image and reputation.

Jon is thankful that his father, Rhaegar, is still peaking in health. He is a good man _and_ a good King, someone people would follow blindly into war. And Jon has a lot to learn from him before he can withstand the weight of the golden crown currently resting on his father’s head. Not that any child wants their parents to pass, but Jon has even more reasons to wish that his father never does die, only because he isn’t sure he’ll ever be ready to be a leader on his own.

Winterfell is not the biggest place in Westeros but it’s the largest Northern Kingdom. He doesn’t want to fail his people—he doesn’t want to fail his father, who had lost and known enough pain in his life. Jon’s mother died in childbirth and to this day, they still tell tales about Lyanna died murmuring Rhaegar’s name and how, even if they were separated at the time, Rhaegar had felt his beloved take her last breath.

A part of Jon will always blame himself for that, even if his father has told him time and time again that he could not have stopped her death. That death has its own plan, one that nobody can change.

Ever since his wife’s passing, though, Rhaegar has carried around a sense of melancholy and doom. It’s since become his shadow, casting a gloomy aura around the King.

“I’m never going to see her again,” Robb says in sudden, heart-stopping realisation. “Jon! I’m never going to see Visenya again.”

Robb Stark has been in Jon’s life since the beginning. Truly, Jon doesn’t remember a time they weren’t best friends—nor does he really remember _how _they became inseparable. Eddard Stark, Robb’s father – known to everyone as Ned – is most probably the second richest man in the North after Rhaegar. These two have been friends and allies since they were boys. Ned used to spend a lot of time at the castle, aiding Rhaegar as both a King and a man who’d lost so much in war and just needed a friend around, and so naturally, Jon grew up around Robb, a loud and funky boy with thick curly brown hair and bright blue eyes.

Everyone says Robb radiates happiness. While Jon, well…not so much.

Jon has always been quiet. Not to be mistaken with unhappiness. He grew up with more than any other kid in his town could say they had, and despite Rhaegar being a generally broody person, he showered Jon with all the love and affection he could. Still, Jon took after his father’s dark looks and silent ways. _He’ll grow out of it, _some people used to say, but it seems the façade began to fit him even better as the years passed. He’s a very reserved person and there are not many people he trusts. For good reasons, the world of politics is a cold, back-stabbing one. And one true friend who will always have his back is better than hundreds of fake ones waiting for his downfall.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you live across the continent from someone,” Jon replies blandly, turning to one of the men who came South with them. He’d only brought a couple, knowing they wouldn’t stay for long. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have brought anyone other than Robb but Rhaegar insisted that the prince needs protection all the time. To please his father, Jon agreed to travel with some guards. “Have you got everything?”

“Yes, my prince,” the guard answers.

“Good, you may start riding,” Jon orders.

“No! Wait!” Robb interjects, putting himself in front of Jon. “You don’t get it, I need to see her again.”

“Then we’ll send her an invitation to some royal event. Women love that.” Jon pats him on the shoulder jokingly.

Robb’s blue eyes are filled with determination and _gods_, does Jon hate that look. “Please,” Robb begs, “what if someone else proposes to her?”

“You want to marry that girl?” Jon asks, only now understanding what his friend’s _dumb _intentions are. “You don’t even know her. You've spoken to her only one night.”

“One night or a thousand, love doesn’t know time.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “One pretty girl dances with you and you’re suddenly a poet? Spare me the bullsh—”

“My heart is telling me that she might be the one,” Robb insists. “Have you—have you never _felt_ something like that? I don’t know how to describe it, a sign, a spark. Something…which makes no sense but it was there and you know it and it just makes you want to do crazy things to feel it again?”

Jon stares at his friend, expressionless.

Robb sighs heavily. “I forgot you don’t have one.”

“Have what?”

“A heart!”

“That hurts,” Jon deadpans then smirks, “actually, it didn’t. So you may be right.”

Robb huffs, not amused. He then goes on to foolishly declare, “Well, you can leave without me. I’m going to find her. At least one last time.”

“You do know I could just order you to come along and you’d have to, right?”

“But you won’t.”

But he won’t. Jon is not a heartless asshole. Not to Robb anyway.

The guard is still glancing between the two boys, clearly lost. Jon exhales through his nose, nodding once to him. “You go along. We’ll be riding this evening instead.”

“But your father—”

“You tell him we’ll be late,” Jon commands, side-eyeing his best friend who looks as hopeful as a child receiving his first gift, “We have some unfinished business in Dragonstone first.”

﹙♚﹚

“Do I look fine?”

“Sure.”

“You haven’t even looked.”

“Gods, Robb, don’t make me turn this horse around. I’m already regretting this.”

“Fine, fine.”

Jon sighs. And the next time he breathes in, he scrunches his nose up in disgust. So far, he’s smelled all sorts of weird things while riding through this town. From rotten vegetables to whatever _this _smell is, he has had enough. He wishes he was home already, in his frozen wasteland, as Robb likes to call it.

The fields seem endless, leaves getting greener and bushes getting denser as they follow the road an old merchant told them would lead to the Targaryens’ house. The longer they ride, the more Jon realises what Robb has embarked into. “A farmer’s daughter,” he comments suddenly, dryly.

Robb looks back, slowing down his horse so he can be next to Jon instead of before him. “Come again?”

“You wish to…pursue a farmer’s daughter.”

“Aerys Targaryen seems very respected in this town.”

“Does it change anything?”

“It’s not like they’re poor people. They have the largest land around and—”

“What would your father say?” Jon wishes to know because they both _know_ Ned.

Ned who wants the best for him and his children. Ned for whom status and reputation matter the most. Ned who keeps not-so-subtly hinting for Jon to marry his eldest daughter, Sansa, for reasons that are very obvious to everyone around them.

“He’ll be happy. As long as I am,” Robb tells Jon, who remains as unconvinced as he was before that answer. “I think this is their house.”

They certainly aren’t poor people, Jon notes. The house isn’t made out of straws or wood. It’s big in size compared to the ones they'd encountered on the way and now it's clearer that they do own the largest farm around, expanding all around their house, with flourished crops and a variety of animals.

Also, just a side note but the stench is worse.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Jon mutters to himself.

As they near the house, Jon spots one of the three Targaryen siblings under the tree. It’s not Visenya and not the one with whom he refused to dance. It must be their youngest daughter. She sees them, gets on her feet and sprints for her house.

“I think they’re excited,” Robb chuckles.

“Can’t say the same.”

Robb turns to glare at him. “Be nice. Just for a while.”

Jon’s upper lip twitches. In amusement or irritation, he can’t tell. “I’ll try,” he promises dramatically.

The whole family comes out to greet them. The mother first, who keeps wiping her hands on her dress, getting rid of imaginary dust as she offers them a big grin. Aerys seems calmer, standing next to his wife as he waits for them to approach. The sisters follow—Rhaenys, the one who’d just run inside, with her messed up hair and blue dress, then Visenya arrives, looking as pretty as she did the previous night at the ball. Lastly, the middle child, Daenerys steps out.

Out of the three, she seems the least interested in their arrival.

“My lord,” Rhaella begins, then curtsies to Jon, “My prince. You must forgive us, we weren’t expecting anyone today, let alone you two! We would’ve prepared better.”

“It’s our fault for not informing you. You don’t have to worry about a thing, you all look great,” Robb assures them, and as always, his gaze lingers on a particular blushing lady. "And we're only here for a few minutes."

“To what do we owe this honour?” the father questions.

Visenya has taken after her father, her features as sharp as his. Daenerys, on the other hand, has a softer face. Not that he notices a lot about her face, but it's just a detail he's picked up on.

“Jon and I were on our way to Winterfell,” Robb begins, hopping off of his horse, “and we thought…well,_ I_ thought, I couldn’t leave without another word with Visenya.”

As Jon gets off of his horse as well, his landing isn’t as successful as Robb’s. More precisely, a _splush _is heard. Dreadfully, his gaze drops. “My boots,” he whispers in horror, lifting his foot from the sticky dark brown substance into which it has plunged.

These boots were his father’s gift. They have no sentimental value for Jon but they’re bloody expensive!

“Oh, no! Gods above. Forgive us, my prince,” Rhaella gasps.

“It’s not your fault,” Jon states factually, grimacing.

“Daenerys!” Rhaella exclaims, Jon’s head snapping up at the mention of that name, “go help him.”

Daenerys has a little smirk of amusement on her face, one which Jon tells himself isn’t in any way related to him stepping in shit—surely she wouldn’t be so rude to find his misery funny, _right_? At her mother’s request, her face falls. She looks as if she wishes to protest but her mother’s hardened gaze makes her shoulders slump in defeat, anything she wished to say dying on her lips. She looks at Jon for the first time that day. “Follow me,” she requests softly.

"If you'll excuse me," Jon mutters, dragging himself away from the group.

Daenerys leads a very pissed off Jon to their barn. The large wooden building is filled with grain, hay and other farming equipment. “There’s a tap here,” she instructs, leading him in. “And…here you go.” She turns around with a piece of cloth in her right hand.

Jon meets her violet eyes. She has pretty eyes. They’re bright and sparkly, like jewellery. However, they’re not pretty enough to make him forget about the odour. “What’s this smell?” he asks, looking around the dark place.

She tilts her head to the side and a long strand of silver hair falls down her shoulder. “It’s probably you,” she answers slowly.

If Jon was better at observing and interacting with women, he’d know her tone is humorous. Offering an opportunity for some friendly banter to break the ice. But all Jon feels is offended by her forwardness and embarrassed by the foul smell coming from his boots. He looks down at her hand and back to her face, waiting.

She follows his gaze, the skin between her brow furrowing. “Yes?”

“What are you waiting for?”

His words seem to finally sink in. Her eyes go wide. Just a bit. “You want me to—you wish for _me_ to clean your shoes?”

Jon stares at her bizarrely. _Obviously._ “Were you expecting me to do it?”

Daenerys’ cheeks grow three shades darker, her mouth parting wordlessly. Jon is not good with emotions but this one, he can guess—she looks furious. And offended, if he isn’t mistaken. “You—I—I’m not a servant!” She sounds as if she wishes to yell at him but still has some patience left, so the words are just very high-pitched.

Jon shrugs. “Then get someone to do it.”

She is staring at him like he is the weirdest creature in all of Westeros. Jon is pretty sure he looks fairly normal, some would even say handsome. “We don’t have a maid,” she says calmly.

“Not even one?” He is surprised. “But your house is fairly big. Who takes care of all of this?” He vaguely waves around with his arms.

“Us,” she answers, “All of us. This is our home, _we_ take care of it.”

He doesn’t see why someone wouldn’t want servants if they can afford it but judging from Daenerys’ fiery look, he doesn’t think she wishes to hear that question. “Have I offended you in any way, ma’am?” he asks cautiously.

She smiles, a tight-lipped smile which doesn’t crinkle the corner of her eyes. He saw her smile to her sister at the ball, it reached all the way up to her eyes, made them disappear. She was beaming. In comparison, this smile is evidently forced. _Fake. _“Not at all, sir.”

He takes the cloth from her hand and after that, she leaves without another word, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

_Women, _Jon thinks, _they’re much more complicated than politics. _

﹙♚﹚

When he returns (after having cleaned up _his own_ shoes), the conversation seems to be coming to an end, with everyone looking happy and pleased. Robb can’t take his eyes away from Visenya and the latter looks equally engrossed with Jon’s friend, twirling her hair and smiling girlishly when he speaks.

“I will be leaving for the North today,” Robb says.

Jon comes to a halt next to him, nodding. “I need Robb in Winterfell, although I'm sure he'd wish to stay a bit longer,” he adds.

“But,” Robb continues, speaking directly to the parents, “I would like to ask you…not to accept any marriage proposals for Visenya just yet.”

Rhaella’s eyes widen. Aerys smiles knowingly.

“I-I really like your daughter,” Robb says, a bit breathlessly, “and I promise I’ll come back for her.”

Visenya looks like she might faint at any point now. It’s both ridiculous and, admittedly, adorable.

“How can we be sure?” Daenerys asks, her voice calculated. “Forgive me, my lord, but you’re a wealthy and handsome Northman. What if you find someone up there, and leave my sister waiting in despair for you in perpetuity?”

“Daenerys,” her mother hisses, “don’t ruin it!”

“I’m simply asking,” the silver-haired girl answers, scowling.

“That is a valid query,” Jon inputs, staring directly into her eyes. They burn with defiance. “But my friend is not a dishonest man.”

He doesn’t know what it is about her, or why it always happens, but whenever Jon looks at her, it’s as if there is just the two of them enclosed in a dark room, with no one else around. It had happened the first time he’d met her gaze and happens again right then and there, her pale eyes holding his captive. He doesn’t know what to call it but it’s powerful, and it irks him beyond words.

It annoys her too, it seems, because with a little huff, she looks away, jaw set.

He stares a bit longer.

“Jon is right,” Robb’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “I promise to return to you. And I will keep my word.” He reaches in his coat and pulls out a red rose, a classically romantic Robb thing to do. “My lady, I swear that before this rose wilts and dies, I will come back to you with a proposal. If you’ll accept it.”

Visenya doesn’t even consider it. She grabs onto the rose, nodding enthusiastically. “I will wait for you,” she whispers, smiling shyly.

Robb smiles back, satisfied with the answer he got.

They leave on this note, with Robb grinning like a lovestruck fool and Jon annoyed that his boots got dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo, rhaegar is jon's father but he's not a targaryen and lyanna isn't a stark. idk if that makes sense but jon is neither a stark nor a targaryen. he's a snow. if you can't tell this isn't a 100% similar retelling of p&p bc i feel like that's overdone but the themes are definitely very similar. so expect a lot of pining, angst and sometimes very frustrating characters. oh and unlike p&p, there's lots of smut in this. who can complain about sexy times though right?!?!?!
> 
> feedback is REALLY appreciated.


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